The look Sam gave Serena almost made her laugh. It was quite clear that he wasn’t looking forward to his dinner.
“There’s a corn bread muffin to go with it,” the young woman said almost anxiously, as if eager to please him. “I’ve heard the corn bread is pretty good.”
Displaying a smoothness that immediately set off Serena’s alarms, Sam gave the woman a near-blinding smile. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it, then. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She almost stammered, and she was blushing when she hurried out of the room.
Serena doubted that this little hospital had seen many patients like golden-haired, blue-eyed, wicked-dimpled Sam Wallace. She’d heard gossip that the nurses had all but competed with each other to take his vital signs. LuWanda had told her in the hallway earlier that he was one of the nicest young men she’d ever taken care of. “So funny and polite,” she’d raved. “It’s such a shame about his circumstances. Something terrible must have happened to cause such a smart, obviously well-educated man to end up without a home or a job. No one to turn to in his time of need.”
“Maybe he’s just a loner,” Serena had suggested. “Someone who can’t stay in one place for very long. One of those guys who’s incapable of forming lasting attachments.”
“I don’t think so,” LuWanda had murmured thoughtfully. “Have you seen the look in his eyes? Something tragic happened to him—maybe the death of someone he loved deeply or something awful like that. He’s running from a broken heart or tragic memories. I’d bet my next week’s salary on it.”
Remembering those fanciful words, Serena studied Sam’s eyes. Once again the first adjective that came to her mind when she tried to identify his expression was “lost.” She wasn’t sure if Sam Wallace was running away from something or looking for something, but he was obviously not a happy man. But, oh, could he turn on the charm.
Before he could wonder why she was just sitting there staring at him, Serena stood. “I’ll leave you to your delicious dinner.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She chuckled at his unenthusiastic response. “I’ll see you in the morning, Sam.”
She was aware that he watched her leave—as if he was reluctant to see her go. The poor guy must really be lonely, she thought—and then realized in annoyed exasperation that she was beginning to sound just like her mother. Both of them had darned well better be careful—just in case Sam Wallace wasn’t as charming as he appeared.
Chapter Four
By ten the next morning, Sam was free to go. The IV had been removed and he’d been given a list of instructions and a few painkillers, in case he needed them. The only thing he didn’t have was clothes. He was still wearing the backless cotton hospital gown. The shirt and pants he’d worn when he’d been brought in had been cut away, he was apologetically informed. Someone would try to find him a pair of pajamas to leave in.
He was working up to a pretty good case of self-pity when Serena came into his room, her arms filled with blue plastic discount store bags. “I brought you some clothes,” she said without preamble. “They aren’t exactly designer label, and I had to guess at sizes, but they should do until you can replace your own things.”
He eyed the pile of bags she had dumped unceremoniously on the foot of the bed. “You bought me clothes?”
She shrugged, obviously determined not to make a big deal of it. “Just a few things. Almost all of it was on sale. I picked up two pairs of shoes in different sizes. I hope one of them fits. I’ll take the other pair back for a refund.”
He was oddly touched by her actions, and by her painfully self-conscious expression. “Thank you.”
She avoided his eyes. “I’ll go have a cup of coffee or something while you get dressed.”
“I won’t take long. I’m more than ready to get out of this place.”
He’d been half afraid Dr. Purtle—the man everyone referred to as Dr. Frank—was going to change his mind about the release. Sam wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong during the exam that morning, but Dr. Frank hadn’t seemed quite satisfied with the results. He’d asked repeatedly if Sam was experiencing a headache—which he wasn’t—and if he was sure he was seeing clearly—which he was. And then he’d asked if Sam was experiencing any loss of memory other than about the attack itself, which was natural. Sam had looked the kindly, concerned older man straight in the eye and lied through his teeth.
“No memory gaps, Doc,” he had said. And it hadn’t been a real lie, he reflected bitterly. There were no gaps in his memory. There was no memory at all. Not a clue who he’d been or what he’d done prior to waking up in this hospital with Serena Schaffer sitting beside his bed.
He didn’t know if the amnesia was a sign of a physical problem or an emotional one—maybe he just didn’t want to remember his past—but it was real. Whether he was brain damaged or a candidate for a psych ward, no amount of effort on his part had brought forth a single detail about his life. He probably did belong on a psych ward. What kind of nutcase would let himself be released from a hospital without admitting to anyone that there was still something seriously wrong with him?
To distract himself from a question that had no rational answer, he dug in the bags Serena had carried in. He found underwear, T-shirts and tube socks. Two pairs of classic styled jeans, a brown leather belt and three T-shirts in assorted colors. Two button-up shirts—one white, one blue denim. A package of disposable razors, a can of shaving cream, toothbrush, toothpaste and a comb—things the hospital had provided for him, but thoughtful additions on Serena’s part. And the two pairs of sneakers she’d mentioned—size ten and eleven. For all he knew, he wore an eight or fourteen—his shoe size was as lost to him as his real name.
Fifteen minutes later he had to acknowledge that Serena had a good eye for sizes. He wore the denim shirt with a pair of jeans and the size-eleven shoes. The thirty-four-inch-waist jeans were a little loose, but he cinched the belt to make up for it. The shirt fit perfectly.
He was frowning at the bruise the IV needle had left on his hand when Serena tapped on the door and then entered. She appraised his appearance with one quick, comprehensive glance. “Looks like my guesses were close.”
“Everything fits fine. You can return the size-ten shoes. I’ll pay you back for everything as soon as I can.”
“There’s no rush,” she assured him, looking uncomfortable again. “You’ll need to pay your medical bills first. Actually, you could consider the clothes a birthday present.”
“A birthday present?” he repeated blankly.
She smiled. “Today’s the twenty-second. Had you forgotten?”